


Last Call

by EclipseWing



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Character Death, F/M, Stiles goes dark, This is a Hunger Games crossover what do you expect, like REALLY dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 04:45:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3236726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclipseWing/pseuds/EclipseWing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They enter the arena knowing they’re going to die.</p><p>Scott just never thought Stiles was going to be the one to do it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Call

The capitol celebrate the diamond anniversary of the uprisings by arranging a unique spin of their usual Quarter Quell. It's only been ten years since they sent in twice as many tributes, and now once again the President smiles and unfolds a golden envelope.

"To celebrate 60 years, the diamond quell of our annual, Hunger Games, we remind the districts about how we can be merciful. But our mercy has consequences for others. This year we shall reap only half the number of tributes. But the tributes will be reaped, from only one district, of which the district should be chosen at random."

The phrasing takes a moment for the actual message to sink in.

One district has to sacrifice twelve kids as opposed to the usual two.

It's horrible. Naturally district 1 and 2 vie for the place, but there is still nothing they can do when the president reaches into a glass bowl and lifts out a ball.

He holds it up, and the cameras zoom in, displaying the number for everyone to see everywhere.

Eleven districts slump in relief.

And one holds their children close and cry, silent tears.

 

District 8 is a forestry district, with wide spreading woods and forests that are easy enough to get lost in.

Stiles and Scott grow up playing in the woods. They know various things, like how to avoid detection from Stiles' dad - the head Peacekeeper of the district - as well as how to bandage various wounds - Scott's mom is a nurse. They learn to stay away from the Hale house, the burnt house in the forest where past victor Derek Hale lives, with what is left of his family. Stiles learns that no matter how much he tries, he's never going to be able to focus on something for longer than fifteen minutes. Scott knows that Allison's dad is never going to like him, and that her mother sharpening pencils is the least of his worries.

But there is a day that everything changes. There is a day that the pair - best friends since they were four - now seventeen - there is a day that they learn the world is not always a fair and safe place.

That is the day the ball the president plucks out of the bowl has a giant number 8 stamped onto it.

There are one hundred and sixty children between the age of twelve and eighteen in district 8. Lydia quotes the statistics when they meet up later, shell-shocked and terrified.

"That's 7.5% chance that we'll be picked. That's--"

"Don't," Allison whispers, "I don't want to know."

"We'll be okay," Scott grins, the eternal optimist, "Allison can shoot. I'm quite good at hand to hand…"

"And we can what?" Stiles snorts, "The best I can do is hit people to death with a baseball bat. And Lydia just screams. Maybe she could deafen people but these… these will be people we know. _All_ of them... _Kids_ …"

Allison reaches out and Scott grabs her hand, holding it tightly, "What if we both get picked?" she whispers, "What if… I can't watch you die, Scott."

"You won't have to," Scott shakes his head.

"The chances we all get picked is one in six hundred and fifty five million three hundred and sixty thousand," Lydia drones out the numbers. Nobody complains. They know it helps her to relax. Stiles is looking at her with the same expression that Allison is looking at Scott with.

They can't watch each other die.

They won't.

 

The first of the twelve names called is unfamiliar. Malia Tate is young, thirteen, with wide blue eyes as she walks up the stage and stands there trembling. She is all alone.

The next one they recognise. Jackson Whitmore is a year older than them, and it was his last year of being reaped. He and Lydia used to date.

The crowd all startle slightly when Cora Hale stalks up, and her older brother stands stiffly and doesn't meet her eye.

The next name the announcer can't read. They're standing there stuttering and Stiles works it out before his friends, just like he always does. "Me," he pushes forwards. He hears Scott calling to him, but he raises a hand, "Stilinski, right?"

The announcer nods, relieved, "How do you pronounce this?" they jab a finger at the slip of paper with his name on.

Stiles vaguely hears his dad whispering ‘no, god no’ where he stands staring at Stiles with horror, "It's Stiles," he says, "Just call me Stiles." He feels hollow. Like something has crawled in and scooped out a piece of him, leaving him empty and void.

He doesn't even register the shock when the next name called is Allison Argent.

She meets his gaze and then looks away, standing next to the two previous girls reaped.

Stiles thinks he could work with this. He can get Allison back home to Scott. He can do that much at least.

Isaac Lahey (sixteen, blonde curls, wide blue eyes, bruises along his collar bone that everyone knows are from his father). Kira Yukimura (eighteen, exotic skin, quiet, her dad teaches history at the school) . Matt Daehler (fifteen, had the creepiest crush on Allison, they even caught him near her house).

Lydia Martin.

Something in Stiles' breath catches and his vision lurches. He thinks he might have a panic attack, right there and then.

Lydia walks up with her chin jutted out confidently, defiantly. She slips into place besides Kira, and doesn't look at Stiles or Allison.

Vernon Boyd (eighteen, dark skinned, kind of a loner). Erika Reyes (fifteen, she had epilepsy until her family could finally afford to send her to the Capitol for treatment).

There is only one guy left.

Stiles should have known they wouldn't be that lucky.

He very carefully doesn't meet Scott's gaze as his friend walks up to join him.

 

The only mentor in fighting shape to help them out is Derek Hale. He splits them into pairs - a girl and a boy, like he would normally have, and promises a day of his time to help train each of them.

There isn't really much more he can offer them.

At the parade ceremony they're stuffed in various costumes of leafy design and showed off for the world to see. Stiles stumbles off the carriage, tearing at his, trying to get it off.

"Let me help you," Lydia whispers next to him, and he lets her, and then proceeds to help her with her own. They escape to their rooms and curl up together. Somewhere Stiles knows that Scott and Allison are doing the same.

"I wish you weren't here with me," he whispers to her, "I could deal with it just being me… but you guys too?"

There is a wet patch on his chest from her tears, but he doesn't comment and holds her closer.

 

Stiles can't fight. Allison avoids the archery range, because it's one advantage she wants to keep to herself.

Stiles knows. Stiles and Scott and Lydia all know.

"I don't…" Stiles walks up to Scott, "I don't want to be against you in the arena," he whispers.

Scott turns to him, "I thought that was a given," he offers a small smile. Stiles returns it. "Are you okay…?" Scott asks, "If Allison and Lydia…? If we all…?"

"I thought that was a given," Stiles says, and then wanders off to look at where Kira is dancing with a katana.

 

Lydia can't fight either. She's adept with poison, and she thinks she can work with a small blade, poison and some darts. All she needs to do is draw blood and sooner or later the enemy will be dead.

Scott used to be bad at fighting too. But then his dad came back from the capitol with a cure for his asthma and a course of hand to hand fighting lessons.

Allison's dad deals in weapons for protection from the various beasts that hunt in the forests. She can use a knife as well as a gun or bow. She's the most likely to live out of all of them.

And Stiles finds the swords are familiar under his fingers, like a half forgotten tune. He's not as good as Kira, but he knows he can be brutal, dangerous, if he just lets himself.

He drops the blade and walks away.

Not now. Not yet.

He wants to be Stiles for as long as he can.

 

The arena is a forest, much like the territory District 8 is so familiar with.

That's probably why they chose it. Everyone will have an advantage here.

The cornucopia is a tree - Oak - with spreading branches into the sky and amongst the roots are various weapons and food supplies.

Allison is immediately to the left of Stiles. The pair meet each other's gazes and Allison nods towards the tree where Stiles can see a bow and arrow leaning against one of the roots. He nods back, telling her he's understood.

Between the four of them they had planned to leave the Feast as soon as possible. Stiles knows it's where the first people are going to die, and it doesn't make sense to hang around. But there is food and weapons there for the taking and with Allison by his side, he knows they can get in and out and meet up with the others just like they had planned.

The money of the Capitol is on either Cora Hale or Jackson Whitmore to win. Allison is a danger, her training scores quite high, but nobody thinks her bow and arrows are going to get her far in real combat.

Stiles' heart thumps in time to the countdown. He can't see Lydia or Scott, and they must be one of the figures in the distant spokes across the other side of the tree. He looks along the row past Allison, spotting Malia and Boyd. To his other side are Isaac, Matt and Cora.

The canon sounds, loudly and violently in Stiles' ear and he leaps off his plate and legs it. If there's one thing Stiles can do - it is run. He hears Allison fall into step behind him. He's faster than her, reaching the cornucopia first, taking a moment to eye out everything. There are times he hates the way his brain fires in so many directions at once, but now, at the crucial point, it allows him to grab items that are going to be the most useful. He grabs two backpacks and a long, rather wickedly curved machete and turns to see Allison with her bow and arrows, and another backpack of her own.

She nods, and Stiles follows her, the pair slipping around the tree.

Boyd thunders past, and he doesn't even spare them a glance. From the looks of it Matt ran, and Malia skirted the edges before taking off. Allison grabs Stiles' sleeve and tugs him along.

Something prickles on the back of his neck and Stiles throws himself forwards, him and Allison falling to the floor as something whistles overhead.

Allison's gasping, winded as Stiles plucks the knife from the ground. He turns to see Cora Hale glaring at them. He clenched his fist in the back of Allison's jacket, dragging her to her feet and together the pair stumbles into the trees.

 

"Free knife," Stiles comments later, wandering through the forest with Allison. They have yet to find Scott or Lydia. "It was nice of her to give it to us."

Allison is stepping carefully along, examining the plant life as they look for water. That was their backup plan if they couldn't meet up with the others - head for fresh water.

"Do you think anyone died?" Stiles asks, "I mean… we got out of there pretty quickly and I didn't hear any canons."

"They save them though," Allison whispers, "Maybe the bloodbath isn't over."

"There aren't that many of us though. Twelve. Even the bloodbaths with twenty four are usually shorter than this."

"Maybe no one's dead," she shrugs, and pushes through a bush revealing a bubbling creek, "We all know each other… that sort of thing is tough to overcome. That's why they did this after all…" she falls silent abruptly, and Stiles follows her gaze.

"Or maybe," he says darkly, picking his way up the stream and bending over the still form, "Maybe they aren't announcing the deaths."

It's Matt. His form is sodden, limp, and he was obviously drowned by someone stronger than him. Stiles shakes his head as he takes the pulse, "He's dead," he says, standing, "Come on. We'll have to head upstream to find fresh water."

Allison is silent, one hand pressed to her mouth, "Who do you think…? Why aren't they announcing…?" she closes her eyes, shaking her head. "They could be dead already," she says with a whisper.

Stiles takes her gently by the arm, steering her north, "Come on," he says, "Let's find fresh water."

 

They continue following the stream. Downstream it's been contaminated by the dead body, and despite the whir of the carrier appearing as they vanish, neither of them particularly want to drink from it. "We'll find them," Stiles reassures Allison, "They must have some way to let us know how many are left. They'll show the names in the sky or something, we just need to watch out for them."

They do, lying there alone that first night. Matt's face flashes overheard, and then Malia's before the anthem finishes playing and the sky goes black.

"That must be a record," Allison whispers, "Only two dead on the first day."

"It doesn't change anything," Stiles tells her, "Eleven kids are still going to die. One of us…" he falls silent, "Maybe both," he shrugs.

"I want Scott," Allison whispers, and she curls into Stiles’ side and he can feel her sobbing quietly into his arm where the cameras can't see her moment of weakness.

 

The next morning they decide to head back to the giant Oak Tree that is the Cornucopia. The whole arena is like a bowl, with the tree in the middle of the forest. It's hard to find, no real direction or plot to the endless trees. "But at least," Stiles tells Allison, "It's not going to turn out to be a giant volcano."

"There might be earthquakes," she whispers, "If it's anything like back home."

"It might not," he argues, "But then again…" he falls silent.

"But what…?" Allison looks up from where she had been staring at the ground.

"But I heard something," Stiles head snaps around to the side, "Four o'clock."

Allison's bow is drawn in an instance, arrow balanced perfectly. There is a flash and there's someone through the trees. Startled Allison releases, but Stiles knocks the bow aside at the last second.

The arrow thuds into the tree inches from Lydia's head. Her mouth is open and she freezes, staring at where Allison drops her bow in horror.

There is a curse that comes from Scott as he stumbles into view. "You almost shot us," he hisses indignantly.

" _Almost_ ," Stiles trips his way towards them, "Almost, there is a big difference there…"

"’ _Almost_ shot me’ is far _too close_ for comfort," Lydia snaps, "Next time don't shoot before you can see what you're aiming at."

"Thank god we found you," Allison throws herself at Scott, burying her head against his chest, "I… we were worried about you… they aren't firing canons…"

"We know," Lydia winces, "We found Malia… she looked like something got her - some animal. A coyote or something…"

Stiles shudders, "I hate coyotes. They always sound like they're mauling some poor defenceless animal."

"Well at least we're together now," Scott grins weakly around at them, "And hey! You guys got stuff from the Cornucopia."

 

Stiles has barely looked at the two backpacks, but now he opens them. There is food in one, along with some sort of thin blanket. In the other is a set of knives that Lydia claims almost immediately. Allison's pack also has food and a knife. Stiles passes the knife that had been thrown at him to Scott, but keeps the machete.

Maybe they can do this, he allows himself to hope, and maybe they can survive just long enough for…

For what, he doesn't know.

 

Over the next three days there are only two deaths: Erika and Boyd. (The four of them don't know that the pair found an old house in the middle of the woods to camp out in. It's at that moment that it is realised that the arena is not just similar to the forests of District 8 - it _is_ the forest of District 8, right down to the burnt out Hale House in the clearing.

Matt died when Jackson held his head under the water until he stopped struggling.

Erika and Boyd died when Cora found them. At first the Hale had played a friend, before turning on them in the ruined replica of her old house.

When she left, she set it alight.)

The four don't know any of that. They've formed a little pack, and they keep to the forest near the stream. Somehow every other tribute manages to miss their little patch of territory.

Right up until they don't.

And that's when everything goes wrong.

 

Allison and Scott are sitting in the dirt, trying to work out a map of the arena and trying to plan out what to do. Stiles and Lydia have headed off to scout out what was happening at the Cornucopia. The four of them have nicknamed it the 'Nemeton' after the cut down Oak tree back home.

This is what happens: Jackson Whitmore spots Stiles and Lydia and follows them back.

Stiles hears the not-so-subtle footsteps, echoing behind him. He stops, and the footsteps stop.

"Stiles?" Lydia turns to him, "What's wrong?"

He opens his mouth to tell her to run, that there is someone following them, but the words stick in his throat. He shakes his head. That's obvious, and will warn whoever's following them. "Just thinking we should get back to Allison and Isaac," he says, starting to walk forwards again.

Lydia's smart. She's got a genius IQ, but even if she didn't she knows it's not a mistake that Stiles randomly drops Isaac's name into the conversation. It means something's wrong. Or soon going to be wrong.

"I need to go and check those traps that Scott set," she tells him.

"Are you sure…?" Stiles asks, but he can see her idea. If they split the person following them can only follow one of them, "Do you want Allison to come with you?"

"No," she sniffs, "I think I can check the traps by myself," she flounces off through the trees.

Stiles continues to where Allison and Scott wait. He only has gone about a hundred metres when he realises the footsteps are gone. That had been the plan of course, get him to follow one of them, and then the other heads to camp and gets Scott and Allison but…

Stiles had been assuming he'd be the one followed.

Not Lydia.

She'd be fine, he tells himself, speeding up slightly as he reaches the stream and their camp. Lydia can look after herself after all.

That's when he hears her scream.

"No," he whispers, spinning around and breaking into a run. He hears Scott and Allison startle, and he'd been too slow. Too slow and too far away and now he's going to be too late. He's got a better plan, and he reckons he can take the guy himself. "Lydia!" he calls out, "Lydia!"

 

When he breaks into the clearing he sees Jackson straight away, some sort of flip knife in his hand. Lydia is standing in front of him, so, so pale and as Jackson steps back Stiles can see the red gash in her side.

Lydia stumbles backwards, lips pressed together and brow furrowed slightly as she sees Stiles. He can see she's tried to defend herself, her one hand holding one of the small knives she had retrieved from the backpack and promptly smothered in a deadly poison. ("Wolfsbane," she had told him, "Highly toxic," and her grin had been daring.)

She reaches out and grabs onto his jacket, collapsing on him. He catches her, and Jackson makes a move forwards just as Allison and Scott sprint into the clearing. Allison's already raising her bow and fires off an arrow, which catches Jackson in the thigh.

He stumbles backwards and glaring at them, vanishes into the trees, Stiles sucks in air, cradling Lydia to him.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, "Lydia, Lydia please, I'm sorry I wasn't quick enough, I'm sorry, please, please…"

He presses down on the wound. It's not bad - superficial even.

"Oh my god…" Allison breaths, "Lydia…"

"What happened?" Scott asks, "What… why were you separated?"

"Someone was following us," Stiles mumbles, "Someone was following us so we split, and I went to get you while he… god we shouldn't have split, it was stupid… so stupid…" he clenches his eyes closed.

"It's okay," Lydia whispers, weakly, "It's okay, Stiles."

"No, no it's not…"

She grins at her weakly, "I love you," she says, "And you're going to win this. One of you has to win this."

"Lydia…" Stiles swallows a lump in his throat.

"I'm…" Allison stumbles back, looking like she's about to be sick. "I'm going to go and see if I can… Jackson, I mean… he'd leave a trail…"

"I'll go with you," Scott averts his eyes, full of tears, away from his dying friend and best friend. The pair vanishes, giving Stiles and Lydia their last bit of privacy.

 

"Did you find him?" Stiles’ voice is hoarse when he stumbles into view where Scott and Allison are eying broken branches and splashes of blood on leaves. Their eyes are both red from tears and they both look shell shocked. "Well?" Stiles demands.

"He went…" Allison's breath hitches, "He went off that way," she points down towards the Nemeton.

"You're going to just let him go?" Stiles jabs a finger in the direction Jackson had gone, "He's injured… if we go after him now we can…"

"We can what?" Scott whirls around, "Hunt him down and kill him like a dog? That… that isn't how we were going to play this, Stiles. This wasn't our game plan."

"Lydia _dying_ wasn't our game plan," Stiles snaps.

"Stiles, just leave it," Allison begs, "Please…"

Stiles stumbles backwards away from them, "No," he says, "No… I can't… I have to go after him," he stops, and for a moment he sways unsteadily, looking like he is about to fall over.

"Can't you wait?" Scott begs, "There are still seven of us left. That's four other tributes. Just stay with us. Stay with our pack."

Stiles laughs. It's a broken, jarring sound that comes from the back of his throat, "What pack?" he asks, "A blind man could see that I'm nothing but a third wheel to you two. And now Lydia's…" he chokes, and presses a hand to his side. "I'm going," he says, stepping back and not looking at them, "I'm going to hunt down Jackson and kill him if you won't."

"Stiles…"

"No, Scott," Stiles shakes his head, "You're my brother, and I love you, but your place is with Allison now." He pauses to stare at the pair, then whirls around and breaks into a run, vanishing before either one can say anything.

 

Scott doesn't know what happened to them. One minute they had been a group - a pack of four. The next Lydia was dead and Stiles was gone.

They forget to watch the skies that night. They spend most of the next day worrying if Stiles made it through the night or if he was dead now too.

That night though Jackson's picture is plastered above them.

"Do you think?" Allison asks. Scott feels torn. He's pleased that Lydia's killer is dead, but the idea of Stiles becoming a murderer is horrifying.

 

(Somewhere Stiles stands over a bloody body, machete hanging loosely from his hand as he picks himself up and walks away, not looking back. He stops by a stream to wash himself off, and presses one hand to his side, wincing and gaze becoming unfocussed before he snaps back, cold water and blood running off his palms.)

 

When Allison next sees Stiles it's the morning after Jackson's picture appeared in the sky. Two days since Lydia was killed. Two days since they've seen Stiles.

She and Scott are moving - looking for others. She packs the bags, the two that Stiles had left with them, while Scott goes to get water. She hears rustling, "Scott!" she calls out, "Come over here and help…" A cracking twig makes her look up, and she takes in the spiky hair, ruffled and long, and the dark eyes focussed on her as he strides towards her. "Stiles!" she exclaims, relaxing back until she is sitting on her feet, "You okay? We haven't seen you since…" she stops, words catching in her throat. There is something about the dead look in Stiles' eyes that makes her glance down to check her bow is still sitting there on the grass.

She looks up, mouth parted to ask what he's doing. She freezes. It's been two days - only two days, but she can see his expression clearly now. And she can see the blade in his hand as he strides towards her.

"Stiles?" she asks, and finally she listens to her instinct, and lunges forwards for her bow on hands and knees.

Her hand closes around it when he gets there, boot weighing down her weapon as one hand grabs her collar and he crouches before her, slipping the blade in between her ribs in one swift stroke.

She gasps, staring in horror at the sword protruding from her middle, then up to where Stiles is observing, passive, slack and dead-eyed. His lip tightens as he twists it, before he pushes back on her shoulder, pulling on the blade and with a wet slurp it comes out.

"Stiles?" she whispers, hands finding the wound and pressing on it, feeling the blood that is beginning to pour out. She looks up but Stiles is already gone, stepping around her with a sorrowful, but cold expression as he vanishes.

Allison's shoulders slump because naturally Stiles isn't going to hang around and wait for Scott to appear.

It doesn't hurt, is the only thing she can think. There is no pain.

She sits there alone in the clearing, and she knows that she is dying.

That's when Scott emerges from the other side of the forest. He's smiling, and the cameras catch the change of expression when he sees Allison kneeling, blood staining her hand.

He drops the water he's collected and runs for her, skidding to the ground and cradling her to him. She sinks into him, unable to hold herself upright. "No, no, _no,_ _Allison_!"

"Scott," she chokes, "Scott… I'm sorry… he just… he came out of nowhere…"

"No, no…" he brushes hair out of her face, "Don't, Allison don't die, don't leave me…"

"You can do this… without me," she murmurs.

"It's okay," Scott's voice breaks, "Who was it? Tell me who it was and I'll kill them."

She strokes her face with fascination, "It doesn't hurt," she breathes in wonder, “It doesn't..."

"Who was it?"

"No, no you'll _kill_ him. And I can't ask you to... you can't... I can't ask you to kill Stiles," her eyes flutter closed, and her lips curl into a smile, "I'm okay. I'm dying in the arms of my first love. I'm okay…"

"Stiles?" Scott repeats, "No. No… Allison, please… I can't… I can't do this without you."

Her eyes open on last can, "You can," she whispers, and her final breath slips out silently, her eye lashes fluttering as if she's falling asleep.

"No," Scott shakes his head in disbelief as a canon rings out into the silence, "No… Allison… No. No, **ALLISON**!" he calls out shaking her shoulders. He chokes, lowering her body to the ground, and lifting his head to the sky he lets out a hoarse scream of rage and sorrow.

 

Stiles is sorry about Allison.

He really is, but it had to be done. She was holding Scott back, and she was a danger with her arrows and knives.

Stiles is sorry about her death but he doesn’t regret it.

He did was he had to.

 

Now there are only four more tributes.

Now he’s just got Cora to deal with.

 

Cora, as it turns out, has paired up with Isaac. Stiles is hopelessly outnumbered, but he continues to fight the pair, eventually stabbing one of Lydia's poisoned blades between Cora's ribs before rolling out of the way of Isaac's mace that comes crashing down.

He runs.

Isaac chases.

 

The hills and forest slope up to an outlook where the stream boils into a raging torrent that vanishes over the cliff.

This is where Scott finds Stiles.

 

Scott finds the pair fighting, Stiles looking beaten, blood running down a gash on his head, and he's limping heavily, yet still continues to dart around Isaac, knife out and flashing in the sun.

"Scott?" Stiles stares at him with wide eyes, and confusion, and for a moment Scott thinks he's wrong, that Stiles couldn't have killed Allison, she must have been trying to tell him something else…

But then Isaac turns, distracted by Scott’s presence, and Stiles lunges. The knife sinks into the top of the spinal cord at the base of Isaac's neck.

He goes down in seconds, and Stiles steps back and watches the body fall dispassionately.

"Stiles?" Scott gasps out, "You just… you _killed_ him!"

Stiles glances up and raises one eyebrow, questioning, "That's kind of the point, Scott." His lips tug into a smile.

Scott's heart grows cold. "You killed Allison," he accuses.

Stiles shrugs, unbothered.

There is something very, very wrong with his friend.

"I trusted you!" Scott spits out. "I trusted you! You're my _brother_ , Stiles!"

The smile his friend gives is lopsided and broken. "Oh, you really have to learn, Scott. You can't trust anyone. Not in these games. _Especially_ not me," his face is still amused even though he's not smiling anymore.

For a moment Scott stares at him, searching for some sign of his old friend in front of him.

Finding none he steps forwards, then throws himself at Stiles, tackling the other boy.

They fall off of the cliff together.

 

The water is rough, hands tugging at them, pulling and dragging them in every which direction. They are separated, and dragged down into the forest as the river boils and rages around them.

Stiles thinks about something he told someone once about voluntary aphasia, seconds before the water rolls on top of him, crushing the air out of his lungs.

He blacks out.

 

Scott crawls out of the river choking on water. He spots Stiles’ sodden form a few metres away but he clenches his eyes closed and turns away, dragging himself up and into the forest.

He makes it a couple of feet before sinking to the ground, closing his eyes in exhaustion.

 

Kira finds them like that.

Well actually she finds Stiles first, and checks for a pulse. Then she drags his body a little way out of the river onto the sandy rocks at the side, before stepping back and heading into the forest.

"Scott?" she calls.

He raises his head and she kneels in front of him, "Are you okay?" she asks.

"Kira?" Scott murmurs.

"Yeah," Kira nods, "I saw about Allison. I'm sorry."

He starts suddenly, sitting up abruptly. Kira leans back, eyes wide. "What are you doing?" he asks, "Why aren't you… why aren't you killing me?"

Kira chews on her lip nervously, "I…" she shakes her head, "I saw Isaac’s body at the top of the cliff. I saw you two go over. That means it’s just Cora left. I can't deal with her alone. I need your help. Yours and Stiles'." She stands, and steps back to where she had dropped her katana. "I don't really want to kill anyone," she admits.

Scott's breath catches in his throat, "Stiles," he asks her abruptly, "Is he still there?"

Kira glances through the trees and turns around to face where Scott is sprawled on the ground, "He had a pulse. I… I left him on the beach. He's okay, don't worry."

Scott lurches to his feet, "It's not him being dead I'm worried about. It's him being alive." He winces, unsteady on his feet and he reaches for the tree to try and maintain his balance.

Kira frowns, "I thought you were friends."

Scott glances up, a roaring headache pounding through him, "Yeah, but he… he killed Allison."

He hears her sharp intake of breath.

"What is it?"

"I left him…" Kira breathes, "He's still there…" she spins around only to find a damp, dark eyed Stiles standing behind her.

"Hey Kira," he flashes her a grin, short, sharp, and slightly smug as he lashes out, knocking her aside. He steps forwards and seconds later the girl stops writhing beneath her own katana that pins her down.

 "This is my game," Stiles turns away from the broken form of the girl he has just knocked down. His eyes are dead and shadowed. "You think you can beat me at my game?" he grins, stalking forwards, blade in hand. "I had it all planned, see? I knew you all better than you knew yourself."

Stiles' hair is wet, plastered to his face as he steps slowly towards Scott. Scott wheezes, trying to talk, when he realises he's having an asthma attack. Or maybe a panic attack. He can’t really tell anymore.

He sinks back down, back to the tree, gaze not straying from Stiles' face as his friend stalked towards him through the trees.

"Stiles," he begs.

"You okay?" Stiles asks, one hand reaching out and grabbing Scott's shoulder. His fingers tap out a pattern on Scott's shoulder seconds before he slips out a knife and buries it in Scott's chest.

Scott gasps, feeling the hard bite of steel.

"I'm sorry," Stiles grabs his face, forcing Scott to look at him, even as he feels the blade twist his insides. "I really am. But I have to do this."

"Nobody makes you do anything," Scott whispers, and he can taste rust on his lips.

Stiles laughs, a broken, shattered sound, like grating glass. "You never change, Scott," he whispers, "And that's why I had to do this. You understand that, right? You understand why I had to do this?"

Scott's eyes are fluttering closed and he feels Stiles' clammy hand grip his face.

He hears the words 'I'm sorry' whispered again, before the cold iron and steel in his chest is twisted around once more and he slips away.

 

At the end of it, Stiles heads back to the clearing where Lydia died. Cora will be dead soon from the poisoned blade, and so he doesn’t worry about tracking her down.

There is just one last thing to take care of.

He doesn't stop at the clearing; he keeps walking just beyond, slipping down between two rocks and vanishing into a dark cave nobody even knew was there.

The cameras can't follow him in, and so they don't see the form lying still within.

Her eyes flutter open as Stiles gets there.

"Lydia, Lyds?" he runs his hands through her hair. It's damp with sweat and she stirs, sleepily.

"Stiles?" she whispers.

"Yeah," he leans down and kisses her brow, "It's going to be okay now."

She's so pale lying there. She would die eventually with no medical care, the knife wound probably growing infected and killing her. As it is Stiles has been keeping it clean, and she's only suffering from a loss of blood and whatever other damage it did to her. "I love you," she whispers, eyes fluttering closed.

"And I love you too," he whispers, "So fucking much."

"Where are…” Lydia's eyes open again with visible effort, "Where are Scott and Allison?"

"They're safe," Stiles chokes, "They're safe. I'm… I'm going to go find them, okay?"

"M'kay," she turns her head into his palm. "Come back quickly."

He swallows and doesn't answer, "Be brave, Lydia," he whispers, and tearing himself away from her, he stumbles to the cave entrance and outside.

Once out he barely makes it three metres before sinking down, his back to a tree. His hands are trembling as he slowly pulls up his t-shirt, revealing bandages underneath.

He winces when his fingers ghost over them, but then braces himself and tears it off with a low moan. His eyes roll up in his head and he drops the bandages, revealing the bright red wound, the veins black around the narrow cut. It shouldn't have killed him, but it's become infected somehow, and he's dying.

Then again, it was poisoned from the start, so Stiles considers it’s lucky that he’s lasted this long.

Stiles grits his teeth, pulling out a small blade and putting it to the wound. His breaths are shaky, and his head leans back on the tree, staring at the sky for one long moment before he decides something and in one swift movement - he sinks the knife in.

The howl he lets out is choked off as he bites on his tongue to keep silent. Tears spring from his eyes and before he loses his nerve he tears the blade across the wound, dragging it along, making it bigger. He pulls it out and gasps, blade falling from his numb hands as he sinks back.

Better to die sooner rather than later, Stiles thinks, feeling like he's torn himself apart.

But he's done his job. He's not going to last much longer. Not that he was going to anyway.

He closes his eyes.

 

"Why would he do that?" Lydia whispers, staring at the screens once she's been retrieved, fixed up, and finally someone explains to her what happened. She finally learns how she won, despite spending most of her time dying slowly from blood poisoning.

Derek moves forwards so that he stands behind her. He presses a button on the remote, "It will take people a while, but people are going to start looking at this," the image on screen is Stiles, bloody and near dying, an infected cut in his side. "They'll probably come to the conclusion that it was Jackson…" he presses a button and the video jumps back to Stiles, lashing out with the machete as if it were a bat. "Cora had no knife by the time Stiles got to her. Kira had lost her katana. Isaac used the mace anyway. The only other person with a knife was Jackson."

"But?" Lydia can sense it coming with a growing horror.

"But I re-watched the tapes," Derek says, "And I notice this." The scene jumps back, and Lydia recognises Jackson confronting herself. Jackson steps away when Stiles appears in the clearing, and immediately Stiles rushes to Lydia's side. Derek pressed pause to freeze the screen and points to Lydia's hand. "There," he says.

Lydia swallows, "The butterfly knife," she whispers.

"You have it there," Derek tells her, and then lets the movie play slowly. Lydia watches as she stumbles backwards, grabbing onto Stiles and how the pair caves into each other. Derek stops it again. "Same hand," he points, "You grab him with the hand holding the knife. It doesn't drop." Play. Stiles cradles Lydia to him. Allison and Scott appear. Jackson flees. Allison chases after him and Scott follows. Stiles stands.

He's wincing, clutching the side that the Lydia on the video had been pressing against not moments earlier. Stiles stands there, looking dizzy, swallowing and then seems to decide something, leaning over and scooping up her body.

Derek doesn't say anything, just fast forwards it to a point when Stiles emerges from the cave, "There was no cameras inside the coyote den," he says, "A failure on the Gamemaker's part, since they missed his conversation with you, and they would have missed you even being in there if it wasn't for the fact your tracker was still active. Stiles must have known that, because now…" he points to Stiles' side, "Now I'd assume he'd have time to bandage it, to clean it up. He grabs it a couple of times later, which means it caused him pain."

"I did it," Lydia whispers, "I… I killed him."

"He killed himself," Derek whispers, "The Capitol killed him." The 'they killed my sister' goes unspoken.

"No," Lydia shakes her head, "The knife… the blade… it had wolfsbane on it… aconite," there is a sob rising in her throat, "I put poison on it and if he… if he got cut then…" she swallows, "He knew he was going to die. He knew it, and still he… he just went around to take down as many as possible."

"Suicide run," Derek acknowledges, "It will take them a while to find this," he nods to the screen, "There are already rumours flying around about you. You've got a name."

Lydia closes her eyes, "I don't want to hear it," she whispers. "I don't…"

"Why not?" Derek asks, "They call me the Wolf after I ripped my way through the tributes. I don't wear it like a badge of honour though. I wear that name as a reminder of who I killed. Of who died. Don't you think you should wear this name to remember him? To remember Scott and Allison and Stiles and all they did in your name?"

"I don't want to remember what he did in my name," Lydia whispers, "I want to remember what he was like before… before all this. Before the Games."

Derek looks at her, “You can’t go back,” he says, simply.

She closes her eyes. Finally she sighs, opening them again, "Tell me," she says, voice wavering.

Derek examines her carefully, but nods, "They call you the Banshee."

 

_("Now that," Snow turns away from the screen to look at Katniss, a rose between his fingers, "That is what I call star-crossed love.")_


End file.
